


Good Morning Good Morning

by skyofblue_seaofgreen



Series: Ghost John [1]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst I guess, F/M, Ghost John time, M/M, Sad Times in Scotland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyofblue_seaofgreen/pseuds/skyofblue_seaofgreen
Summary: John is now a ghost. He doesn't know why, but he goes to see Paul.Oh yeah, and it's December 9th, 1980.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney, Paul McCartney/Linda McCartney
Series: Ghost John [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931854
Kudos: 41





	Good Morning Good Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoy some more Ghost John! 🍋

December 9th, 1980. 

It was bitterly cold in London. Snow was falling from the pale gray sky in soft little flakes, lying gently on the ground in small heaps. It was hardly dawn yet, and nobody was on the road. 

Nobody living, that is.

Something was passing underneath the deep orange light of the street lamps; something faint and human-like. It was silent as it moved through the white snow, gliding like a swan through water. Then the apparition moved from the desolate road to a small red-and-gray house nestled in the green hills of Scotland. 

It slid down a slope and over a weak wooden fence, stopping in front of the house with a sigh. The apparition had been here before, maybe once or twice, but it didn’t remember very well. It proceeded onward and slipped through one of the back cherry-red doors.

It lifted its ghostly head to check the yellowish clock hung on the wall. It was 6:43 am, and the sky was slowly becoming a mixture of pink and orange. The stars were nearly gone now, but the moon was fading slower. The apparition barely glanced at the window in the kitchen before going down the hallway and stopping at a telephone.

It blinked a few times, staring down at it. “Three, two, one.”

Immediately loud, annoying ringing filled the entire house, like a blaring wake-up call that came too early. The apparition listened to irritated mumbling as a tall figure came out of one of the bedrooms. It relaxed to see its old friend. Paul McCartney.

The frazzle-haired man picked up the phone and cleared his throat. “Hello?” he said, closing his large eyes to try and catch a few more seconds of sleep. His wife, Linda, came to the doorway, leaning against it to see what the issue was.

A quite hysterical voice came from the other end of the line. “Paul? Is this Paul?” a woman said. It sounded like she was trying to be quiet, but it wasn’t working. 

“Yes,” Paul answered slowly. He knew this woman. “Yoko?”

“John was shot last night!”

The five words rang through the house like bells. It looked like Paul had just seen a ghost, which was quite ironic considering what would occur soon afterward. His face grew pale and his hands started to shake uncontrollably as he tried to keep his composure. “Is….is he okay? What happened?” he said as Linda’s expression grew troubled.

“He’s…” Yoko’s voice hiccuped and she sighed shakily. “Paul, he’s...dead.”

And that was when the phone dropped. It clattered to the ground as Paul stumbled back into the wall behind him. Concerned and a bit scared, Linda came up to keep him from completely crumbling. That was when the apparition slowly picked the phone up from the ground, seen by nobody. 

The apparition was John’s. John Lennon’s, to be more specific. He was quite a new ghost, and he was still trying to figure out how this whole ‘being dead’ thing worked. He hated to see Paul so terribly devastated like this. It wasn’t like Paul to be so...broken. 

John wanted more than anything to let Paul see him, but it wasn’t the right time. He knew it would just mess everything up. Suddenly, he heard his wife’s voice through the speakers again, not loud enough for Paul or Linda to hear. “Hello? P-Paul?”

John hung up the phone.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” Linda was whispering to Paul as the traces of a full-blown meltdown were starting to appear. “I’m so sorry. Oh, baby, I’m sorry…”

Then little Stella, a child of nine, came out of her room, blue eyes wide with worry. “Momma? What’s happening?”

“Go back to your room, dear,” Linda answered swiftly. She didn’t want her youngest daughter to see Paul break down, and she was correct in that opinion, because as soon as Stella closed her door those long-awaited sobs came.

They weren’t as loud as John expected, as most of them were buried in Linda’s shoulder. John wanted more than anything to appear, stretch out his arms, and go: “I’m right here, Macca!” But he knew it was the wrong time. All he could do now was watch.

He wished he could do more than watch…

A few hours later, the house was shrouded in a veil of despair. Linda made pancakes for Mary, Stella, and James, trying to distract them from the painfully obvious dark cloud that was swirling around Paul. Mary and Stella still had to go to school, and Linda took the opportunity to get James to go to the grocery store with her so Paul could have the house to himself.

At least, he _thought_ he had the house to himself.

Paul stumbled his way through his morning routine and eventually landed in front of the kitchen window, staring out onto the beautiful Scotland landscape with a warm mug of hot chocolate between his still-shaking hands.

John stood behind him. Was this the right time?

He stared at Paul, whose eyes looked hollow. John was disappointed to see another row of sleek tears falling down his face. He sighed. This was the right time.

“If you keep wastin’ tears, you’ll have none left to cry later.”

Paul jumped right out of his skin, a good portion of the hot chocolate falling onto the floor. He stared at John, who had revealed himself (finally) with eyes wider than saucers. “What the hell?!” he immediately roared, reaching back to get the fly-swatter. John had to stifle a laugh as Paul fumbled to swipe at him, but the flat edge of the swatter just went right through him. 

“What a nice greeting, Macca,” John said, crossing his arms. “Truly a pleasure to see you too.”

Paul still looked quite terrified; his eyes were wide and his chest was heaving with fear and the effort of swinging the fly-swatter. He swallowed. “John?”

“Yes?”

“You...you’re…dead.”

“I’m aware of that, actually,” John answered with a smile. 

“You look 22,” Paul said. “Are you...are you a ghost?”

“I suppose,” John replied. “I guess I belong in an Edgar Allan Poe novel, then, don’t I?”

“John,” Paul said. “You…”

“Spit it out, Macca,” John said, getting a bit frustrated with all the pausing. “I’m what? I’m dead, and I’m a ghost, and I’m 22 again, and I’m here, right in front of your face.”

Paul stood up straight, furrowing his brows. “But ghosts aren’t real,” he said matter-of-factly, setting the fly-swatter down on the counter.

“Bullshit,” John retorted.

Paul stared at him for a bit longer, and then his shoulders relaxed. “Okay, I give up,” he said, and that old familiar smile came to his face. John smiled back, the light dancing in his eyes. “So...why are you here? Why not with Yoko or Sean?”

“I supposed I just _felt_ like I needed to come here,” John said back. “I didn’t really decide to. I just did. Maybe there’s a reason why, but it beats me.”

Paul glanced over his shoulder. “Can anybody else see you?”

“Not if I don’t _want_ them to,” John answered with a wink.

Paul smiled. “You sneaky devil.”

“That’s my brand.”

It was quiet for a few minutes as Paul cleaned up the hot chocolate he’d spilled. John watched him, wondering if Paul would let him help. As the younger Beatle threw the paper towels in the trash, he glanced back at John. “Was it...bad?”

“What?” John replied, suddenly growing uncomfortable.

“Dying,” Paul said quietly. It was almost like he didn’t want John to hear. “Did it hurt?”

“Well, no _shit_ it hurt.” John said, eyes casting down. He sighed, trying to remember his last moments of life. He couldn’t really recall anything but yelling and gunshots and warm blood. He swallowed, running his hand through his hair. He didn’t want to think about it anymore, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” Paul muttered.

John glanced back up at his friend. “Wh-what? No, it’s...it’s okay.” he promised. “It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t…”

“Does it scare you?”

John hesitated, but then nodded. It was terrifying, not just scary. It felt like he was being suffocated every time he thought about it, so he tried to clear it from his mind. A sympathetic smile crossed Paul’s face. “I wish I could hug you.”

“Me too,” John said truthfully.

“Paul?” John heard the voice of Linda from down the hallway, and he immediately fizzled away from view. Paul turned around, panic in his eyes as Linda emerged, carrying a few grocery bags on one hip and James on the other. “Oh, there you are. Are you okay?”

Paul stared at her, probably trying to think of what to say. “Yeah. I’m okay, Lin,” he said, taking two of the bags and setting them on the counter. James dropped from his mother and waddled over to Paul, holding his short little arms out.

Linda watched Paul rub his hands through James’s strawberry blond hair, smiling sadly down at his son. John wondered if Paul was faking it or not, and then nearly slapped himself. Of _course_ Paul wouldn’t be faking it! 

“Why don’t you take Martha outside? She needs some fresh air,” Linda said with a smile. “I’ll put the groceries away.”

“Are you sure?” Paul said. He glanced lovingly toward Martha, his sheepdog. The poor dear was fourteen years old now, and didn’t really stray much from her large red bed, unless it was for food or walks. “I don’t want to leave you to do all the work.”

“It’s okay,” Linda responded simply.

John followed Paul and Martha out, slowly fading back into view as they stood at the top of a hill. In the distance John could see Paul’s horse stables and beyond that rows and rows of dark green trees. Martha’s tail wagged as she padded down the slope, following a red bird as it flitted through the sky.

“So, you’re staying, aren’t you?” Paul said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. John glanced over at him, a bit startled by the question, but mulling it over in his head.

John leaned back. “There really isn’t any reason not to, is there?” he said slowly. 

Paul stared at him and then shook his head with a smile. “I guess not,” he said with a short laugh. “I guess not.”

John stared out at the bright sun coming down on High Park. He would like it here, or there, or wherever Paul was going to go. Just as long as he was with him. John hoped...no, he _knew_...they would never be apart again.


End file.
